Countdown to the Holidays
by pebbles and runes
Summary: Different moments from the family in the run to the new year. Set before the New 52. IV. He was not sure why but it felt strangely final. Rated K.
1. Friends

I own nothing. Characters belong to DC.

Nell Little and Colin Wilkes naturally get along. Damian Wayne tries to do the same.

* * *

_Countdown to the Holidays_

I: Friends

Damian's eyes readjusted to the dim lit space as he padded back into the room. He paused in front of the television screen. The movie plot had not seemed to develop during the time he had retreated to the kitchen.

"Hey, down in front!" The call made the boy cast a baleful half- hearted glare at the tangle of blankets on the couch. Red hair and cocoa skin peaked out from beneath the clashing colours that made up the mountain of quilts and comforters; breathy snickers slipped out too. In Mrs. Little's modest front room the mute glow from the television highlighted Colin's freckles and Nell's round cheeks. The two were close together under the mountain of covers, limbs sprawled carelessly. Damian tentatively stepped towards the armchair he had vacated earlier. Standing on the other side of the couch, it was relatively clear of the amalgam of fabric and safe.

"Did you find some water?" Nell sat up; the soft construct of thick cloth caved in. Her small fingers pulled a swath of tartan from red strands carefully combing the other child's bangs into place. Colin grinned, just like Dick said normal children do. When they both looked at him, grins undimmed by the flickering shadows cast by the set, his lips only twitched in what felt like a tight grimace. In a jerky move he held up the clear bottle.

"You want more candy?" There was a flash of small brightly wrapped foil. Colin's hands looked sticky and Damian did not have to feign irritation. The grit from the earlier ingested chocolate coated his teeth.

"I still fail to see the point of this."

"Because the best time to watch any holiday movie is after Halloween and before Thanksgiving." Nell held up the plate with Alfred's cookies (his contribution). "Still okay to watch scary movies but not too early for Thanksgiving or Christmas ones."

"Plus the candy is so much cheaper right after Halloween." Colin's face was made of angles in the pale light that steeped the room.

"Like anyone would notice," Damian grumbled. No one in the city really enjoyed a holiday that seemed like a calling card to anyone who wore a costume more than once a year. "In Gotham, everyday is Halloween."

The comment prompted more laughter, light and so unlike anything he had ever felt. Nell still held the plate. Darting forward to grab a cookie, scrawny arms circled his stomach, pulling him down. He fought the thinner boy's grasp yet found himself being pushed into the impossibly small space between the two. Messy curls brushed his cheek and a too sharp elbow was pressed flush to his hip. He cursed. The draped covers limited his vision to the set, curbed by the figures on each side of him like blinders. The movie had finally developed enough for a minor male character to die- or at least it was implied by the swelling music and the slow fade to black.

Nell pulled the blankets further over their heads. Colin dropped bits of cookie all down his side. Cocooned in the dark warmth he huffed out a short, breathless bark as the taller boy's head nodded, then finally rolled from his shoulder to the couch. Under the voluminous layers he let Nell crawl over him to disappear out of view then reappear, settling in on the other side of Colin with markers. She doodled laboriously on an exposed cheek while he dotted every freckle he could see in sharpie. Then he scrawled THIS END UP near the finer auburn hair close to the temple.

Nell breathed quiet giggles into small palms. The pull felt natural as the edge of his mouth ticked upward. He had to connect some of the freckles to write FRAGILE underneath.

* * *

AN: I figured it would not be such a far stretch to make a universe where these three are friends. While the drabbles will take place over the holiday season they are not meant to be Thanksgiving-sy or Christmas/ winter- themed, per se. I am hoping to feature everyone (and post regularly until January 01).

Thanks for reading.


	2. Days (and Nights): A Week in Gotham

Characters belong to DC (but they abuse them pretty badly).

Different moments in the lives of birds and bats, from Sunday to Saturday. T for swearing.

* * *

_Countdown to the Holidays_

II: Days (and Nights): A Week in Gotham

.

"_Sunday, 1:02 am._

_This is Cassandra. Leave a message_.

_BEEP_."

.

"Seriously? And I am supposed to trust you spandex- hugging backside on this because?" Batgirl blinked. She honestly was unsure how they fell into this conversation (the Red Hood read Cosmo, _noted_) but she was enjoying it.

"It's not spandex, it's a nomex- kevlar weave, thanks for noticing. And I think I would know better than some magazine that thinks it's soft porn. Every robin has only ever been a dominant type." The grin was apparent in his voice though the helmet gave no indication. "Present company included."

Cold wind tangled her hair and the cowl kept it back from her face as she laughed. Below them the city glittered dully, scattered streetlights giving off a harsh glare. Where everywhere else carried the sense of disorder present in a violent dying, Old Gotham seemed burned out from a quiet death, archaic structures towering in moratorium. The strange, docile decay that crept in was mistaken for renewal and in a city that only felt anything by degrees of desperation the brokenness of the historic section went largely ignored.

"So you don't believe in alphas?" She heard a hard exhale of breath.

"Not the way that shit article classed it. It wasn't based on any kind of analysis or research. Just a lot of broad assumptions and mental masturbation. People only fall into three categories that really matter: leaders, followers, and outliers. All robins fall under the first category. Some fall into the third."

Her cape flapped out comically, cutting him off. She tried to ignore the snigger.

"Sure none of us fall into the second? 'Cuz I'm pretty sure B's name comes first for a reason," she smirked meanly at the dirty look the metal did nothing to hide.

"Look, there are leaders and then there is that- bastard. The JLA doesn't even step into his league."

Batgirl made a placating noise of agreement, hoping she did not set off a rant. There was grumbled cursing (she distinctly heard, "old ass") before he released a deep huff.

"Anyway, look what it said about the kid, not to mention Wingnuts. Yeah, Big Bird is handsome and charismatic and the whole multiverse wants it but he isn't inclined to sex without emotional attachment. If you wanna talk about weird deviant behaviour though..."

He let out a cackle that was dark and too rich. Bitter yet happy. It suited the city that resurrected him. He tilted his head while she answered her own hailing signal.

"Batgirl."

"Yea?"

Oracle's voice was all business and sharp edges, like Old Gotham. "He's right, you know. The article was groundless and could hardly be called pedantic. There's a lot of activity in the financial district near Cathedral Square."

The line cut without ceremony. Batgirl found herself gaping.

"See? Barbie agrees with me and not just because they're going at it hammer and tongs," Red Hood crowed. "Let's go, Malibu. It's after eleven on a Sunday. I wanna grab coffee after this and still have time to troll Goldie and the Demon."

She absently readied her line as her mind struggled with which comment to respond to first. It was not unusual. They were not really settled into their newly formed routine yet.

"Malibu was the name of one of Barbie's beach houses. She's got like three other sisters and you can't name one of them?"

There was a pause in his preparations to look back at her.

"Okay, so I'm supposed to be this well- informed, traveller- of- worlds, anti- hero who cares for my fellow man, and know the names of Barbie's plastic relations? Fuck you."

He casually flipped her the finger as he took off. She howled with laughter.

.

Monday morning, Bruce opened his eyes as plush curtain treatments were drawn back to let in the sun. The initial glow lit different expensive objects in warm colour before it faded.

"Good Morning, Master Bruce."

He made an effort to respond to Alfred's greeting with words instead of grunts. Coffee and tablets were set on the dark bedside table. Beyond the polished silver tray was the stack of newspapers and magazines: the Gazette, the Times, Gothamite Magazine, and People Weekly. He meticulously read and made notes within the hour. By the time he completed his evolutions another cup of coffee was waiting for him. A weak streak of light crept into the room along the length of the plush carpet at the foot of the great bolstered bed. It did nothing to brighten the gloom that hung thickly.

Readjusting his tie the tall man strode to the grand staircase, swiftly moving past the expansive family rooms to the panelled study. Sharp azure scanned proposals and quarterly reports then briefly glanced at _other_ reports. Three robberies, one arson, and a thwarted trafficking operation in the financial district, of all places. Surveillance was continued on Crime Alley. Nightwing had already been briefed on ongoing cases, if he did actually have to make a business trip which currently was only a tentative suggestion.

At quarter to nine, the playboy executive of Wayne Enterprises, carrying his third cup of coffee, walked out of the ancestral home that had raised several generations. Expensive Italian soles clicked against marble tile as he went past Alfred to the waiting car. The grey haired butler watched his charge move toward the sleek machine without looking back. Dark eyes drifted back to the stark interior. Staring beyond the front hall, gloved hands locked the door firmly. The noise echoed in the empty space.

.

A warm palm mussed his hair. He turned his face into the pillow.

"Dami, time to get up." Fingers prodded at his cheeks. Biting back an annoyed growl, the sleepy boy opted to rasp out a "Tt." on response. There was a nudge and Damian suspected it was supposed to be a fireman's carry. He was suddenly glad for his new growth in height, all one inch of it. A sigh sounded somewhere above him but it was amused.

"Five minutes, Dami. We already missed breakfast, we're not missing lunch."

He made a murmur of assent, slipping back into numbing dreamlessness.

"Damian, get up! Now!" The tone told him this was the third call and the older man was beyond all patience. Moving swiftly to the bathroom, Damian scrubbed his face and teeth. Stripping out of his bedclothes he struggled into a sweater and jeans, hurrying through the rest of his ritual and downstairs.

With deliberately slow movements he ambled into the kitchen. His brother was leaning over the island, scanning a newspaper. He lifted his head to cast a weary look at the boy which melted into laughter.

"And the surely juvenile reason for your hilarity?" Damian frowned.

"Your sweater's inside out."

Inwardly cursing, the youngest Wayne yanked the thick material over his head with as much dignity as the action would allow.

Bundled in a coat and scarf against frigid weather, he followed his brother to one of the more understated bistros near Wayne Tower. Settled in at a table tucked away from the windows Damian kept peering at the other who was in a serious study of the menu.

"No shop talk 'til after we eat," Dick grinned, never looking up from the print. The younger slumped back from the table. It was the only rule the first robin refused to bend.

"Don't pout. If you're good, I'll invite Timmy and we'll all have dinner later."

"And the incentive?" Damian bit sourly.

"What incentive?" Ignoring the boy's huff Dick smiled brightly, holding up the newspaper.

"So what do you want to talk about? Superman tax or the Marmaduke strip?"

.

"Okay, this is strange."

"You know, I thought the best part about your apartment being separate from your workspace was your work _wouldn't_ follow you home."

Dick fluidly moved into a handstand on her counter. He was in a coat and hat with ear flaps yet still managed to look only graceful. Barbara rolled her eyes.

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much."

"Well, I'm neither one way or the other." They were on to British tropes. Last week had been Kung fu and the week before college jocks. That had been especially grating. He shifted all his weight to one hand.

"What's so strange?"

"Remember the trafficking bust yesterday? One of the men, Kenny Arturo, was released. He was murdered within two hours of making bail." Absently, she twirled fire- red strands between tapered fingers. The upside down face across from her showed no unease.

"That could be strange. Or that could be Gotham," his lean form walked steadily on his palms then sprang from the wood top to the coffee table. He folded his legs criss- cross. "Take your pick."

"That wasn't the strange bit." The blue of the computer screen winked off her glasses. "His head was cut off. Cleanly. Do you know the kind of accuracy it takes to sever the cervical vertebrae that smoothly?"

"No idea. Did you get that from the autopsy report?"

"Fly by night express." That was bat- speak for one of them got to it before the police did. The woman glided over, quirking an eyebrow at the odd seating choice made out of her living room centrepiece.

"Wow, you're moving really fast on this."

"We are moving really fast." _Her and Batgirl._ "Sisters are doing it for themselves."

"Not everything, I hope," He mumbled under his breath.

"Mind out of the gutter."

"Too late, own the t-shirt." Leaning forward, he grinned eagerly. " So you and Steph sometimes tickle and have pillow fights?"

"Is that what you think we do?"

"Yes, yes I do," he replied very seriously. "Any indication of the murder weapon?"

"Nothing solid. Blade edge was smooth, very sharp. There might have been a curve to the blade."

Barbra tilted her laptop. Pictures of a bloody stump were taken from various angles. The high- resolution caught every detail. He had to admit Stephanie had done a great job. Clicking past a few, he opened a file showing Arturo's head. Eyes blown wide in fright, panic could still be read from the rictus expression.

"Late for Halloween. Were there any prints?"

"Place was spotless, for a back alley. Makes me hope this is not the beginning of a killing spree."

"That's the spirit," Dick said dryly, rapping knuckles against wood. He loved the girl but she could be such a downer.

"Anyway, I'll have to shelve this for now until there's time to collect more information."

"So, darling, what's on tonight, then?" He asked in his best cockney accent. Warm air fanned her cheeks and he waggled his eyebrows. Laughing, she turned to rest against his shoulder for a moment then turned away, making a brisk, shooing motion. His heartbeat still rang in her ears.

"Standard procedure tonight, I'm afraid." Patrol.

"And yet another breach of the Trade Descriptions Act," the acrobat groaned. Easily he ducked her hand and executed a roll off the table.

"Yea, well, if I said I liked your ruddy countenance, which I do, I would be saying I liked your bloody cheek, which I don't."

"Holy trope effect! W.S. Gilbert, right?" Dick paused at the door, looking duly impressed. Babs really didn't quote things anymore. Then again, there were a lot of things she really didn't do anymore.

At least she still smiled.

"Stretching a muscle you haven't used in a while, huh, Boy Wonder?"

There was a beat, then his admiring expression became a sly grin. "That's what she said."

He ducked through the door, narrowly avoiding a pillow. There was a cackle of "Cheerio!" as he took off down the hall.

.

"_Tuesday, 3:42 am._

_This is Cassandra. Leave a message_.

_BEEP_."

.

Tim's words sprayed like battery acid and were just as corrosive.

"Tim!" Dick's voice ended the conversation, raised no higher than a harsh growl. Stephanie still had the younger man by his shirt collar. Damian sitting next to Tim did not look as surprised as Dick but the slight tension about his face was there. Chatter continued to spill from the booths around them. Her sparking orbs almost luminescent with rage stared into his blank, unyielding ones.

"Is she going to punch him soon?" Damian demanded. "She's given me worse abuse for calling her a harlot."

"Damian!" Two rougher, darker chords usually heard in the dead of night caused the youngest to fall silent. Stephanie's eyes never left his and Tim thought it seemed somehow fitting that eyes so alive should look at him with such an expression.

"Hate is a strong word," she finally spoke. "but I really don't like you right now, Sweetie."

Lips chapped by cold were pressed against his forehead chastely before she let go.

"I have class this morning and I don't want to be late." Grabbing her bag, she stuffed her scarf into it. She climbed over Dick. Without a backwards glance, she disappeared out of the diner.

"Timmy, why would you say that?" The elder's wondering tone made it difficult to look up. Tim focused on his coffee.

"Isn't it obvious? He's an idiot and he needs to get laid."

His ears went red. It took everything not to sneer at the brat.

"Damian!" Dick's reproach was a brother scolding; Damian did not give it any attention.

"Now can we please go somewhere that would actually serve something appealing?"

.

Jason woke up late. It left him with no time to grab anything to eat and he left his apartment more irritable than normal. His only protection against the sting of the cold was his jacket. The worn material did not really retain heat but it carried the smell of gunsmoke and cigarettes. Zippering the closure all the way up to his chin, he paused at the tinkering ringtone he assigned Dick. Muttering a curse, he unzipped his coat to reach the inside pocket.

"What's up, Sesame Street?" The nickname was a new one he was testing out but he liked it. It suited Dick, since the little assassin and a moral lesson were constantly riding the guy.

"Hello to you too, Jay. Can you talk?" His 'brother's' voice was too cheerful. More than usual.

"I can talk." He heard a soft exhale of a laugh. It was strained. Stopping by a newsstand he pointed to a carton of cigarettes on the shelf.

"I want to make a change to the roster." Jason blinked at the choice of words. Great, code. He was not in the mood for this.

Slapping down some dollars, he mouthed for the vendor to keep the change and asked into the phone, "What do you have in mind?"

"Want to babysit Damian tomorrow?"

"The hellspawn?" Hell no. "In what world would I say okay to that?"

"Timmy's been a little," He could picture the other shrugging. "... lately."

"He's been like that for a while now." No one really knew the word to fill in the blank. He would never admit it out loud but sometimes the kid freaked him out. The Replacement was a little too calm, a little too dispassionate for his liking. "Why is anything different now?"

"Tim kind of said something to Stephanie."

So what?

"Basically said she was jailbait in a cape. And then he called her a sloure."

"What the hell does that mean?" Jason's forehead crinkled.

"Not sure but I've got a pretty good guess from the way it sounded when he said it."

"Okay, so the Replacement's a little tightly wound. Probably needs to go out and get a lay, or something." Eying a gorgeous woman who smiled as he passed by, he made a note to do the same.

"Yeah, someone's already made that suggestion." The response was dry. "Honestly though, it would be enough for me if he could just feel anything."

Dickie's damn heart was bleeding through the phone and all over his boots.

"I bet B's really gonna love this."

"Completely legitimate tactical manoeuvre."

"I'm really lovin' the bullshit." He could see the shop sign for his job a couple yards ahead. "I've got to go."

"Jay-"

"Gotta go." He disconnected the call and ignored the ring that sounded a few moments later. Walking into the shop, his cell rang again. Yeah, he would probably help out. But Dickie didn't need to know that yet.

The tinkering ringtone played again. The name Sesame Street was definitely going to stick.

.

It was approaching midnight. Breathing out thick vapours, he continuously scanned the rooftops. There was a scramble of steps then,

"Hellloo, brat wonder!"

He folded his arms securely under his cape. "Fatgirl."

"You're as charming as ever."

"And you are charmless as usual." the young boy returned to surveying the skyline. "Aren't you supposed to be patrolling the harbour?"

"I totally would be trolling the harbour, if anything were going on there. Since the only thing was watching fish go glub, I figured I would bring some coffee over to whoever has surveillance duty on Crime Alley tonight."

Robin perked up.

"I know yesterday was Dr. Mid-Nite but tonight-"

"Tonight is Nightwing." The little Robin flushed at his own outburst. Batgirl smiled. The moments were brief but she liked seeing the kid beneath the hard edges.

"So I figured we should get him a black eye from the all- night. Of course, we would stop any crime along the way."

"Of course. It is only natural that I accompany you to compensate for your inferior fighting skill." He was already heading for the ledge when he realised she had not left her spot.

"Just one more thing," she sauntered over to him. In the bright moonlight, she could make out the childish face, eyes round behind white lenses. His hands kept fisting in his cape. Slowly, she let her finger tap his nose.

"You're it." Robin blinked with all the wide- eyed surprise of a child then flushed red. Batgirl jumped to the next building. A stream of curses in arabic followed her and she felt a brush of wind at her back. Neatly, she ducked his blow and performed a spin kick, knocking him onto his back.

It was always easier to take the brat down a notch when he was impatient.

.

"Of all the coffeehouses in all the world, you have to walk into mine. Or in your case..." Jason's sea- coloured orbs flicked to Barbara's chair.

"Hello to you, too."

"Hey, Jay."

His half- hour break on Wednesday had barely begun when Dick and Babs had strolled in. He didn't bother to ask how they knew where he worked. Pulling out a chair, he sat at the small table. One of his co- workers, with too many piercings and a blasé attitude, paused by the table.

"Who are these people, Jason? They don't look like your type."

Everyone at the table shifted imperceptibly then two sets of older eyes fell on Jason.

"It's my brother... and his old bag."

"Watch it, little brother." Dick's smile was sharp and all teeth. Babs did not pay attention to either of them and pinned the woman with a weighty stare.

"Bring one coffee with cream, two sugars, and one black."

"Yeah, well, we have a selection of different roasts and blends, so-" Babs cut the other woman off, repeating the order before she turned her gaze to Jason, scrutinising him before she spoke.

"So, was that a British trope?" her expression was bright but cynical.

"More like urban slang which is not nearly as campy." Dick settled his head on his forearms. After that, he really could not join in because the argument moved quickly from tropes versus idioms to what Dick was dubbing the trope effect: quotes with tropes in them. Jay was a lot of things but an idiot was not one of them.

"Oh, fuck off!"

Didn't mean he could outclass Babs, though. The petite woman smugly took a sip of her black as pitch coffee while Jay huffed.

"How do you like working here?" Dick asked, looking around the shop. It was a tactless way of changing subjects.

"S'okay. Doesn't interfere with the night shift." And with that, the conversation altered completely. "Now explain again why I should watch that little gremlin in assassin's clothing?"

"I need time to talk to Tim, preferably without worrying about them killing each other."

"Yes, because heaven forbid we should have a death in the family." They both gave him dark looks but no one rose to the bait.

"Tim is-"

"-Tim is out there and he's been out there long enough to receive mail there," Jay cut in. "What the hell do you think this is gonna accomplish?"

He felt his temper begin to flare when there was no response. Goldie looked older than Gotham as he traced an invisible pattern on the scarred surface.

"He is hurting and he won't let it show. And I'm pretty sure it's killing him. He pretends as if nothing he feels matters." Evocative, emotional blue blazed intensely. "And I know it's more than a little bit my fault."

Ah, good old angst. Jason could not help but sneer. If he was about to upset his equilibrium it had to be for a better reason than that.

"So the doctor is in? You gonna fix everything wrong with the freaky, fuck- up Replacement? Actually he's been replaced, so he's a redundant freaky, fuck- up now, isn't he?"

Dick's emotions swirled and Jason knew he was being antagonistic but that was his status quo. The older man punched him in the arm, hard, and Jay smirked.

"You're right." The surprise he felt was mirrored in Barbara's face. They looked at the eldest robin. "That's why I would need you to start going out with Lil' D some nights."

What. The. Hell. This was not the conversation they had yesterday.

Dick finished his coffee in a manner that reminded him a bit of Alfred then set down the cup and steepled his fingers in a manner all too reminiscent of Bruce. His emotions were contained, the gaze now flatly focused.

"There's no one else I trust more." He could hear everything that went unsaid in the sentence but Jason refused to give in easily.

"Why can't the kid go with Bruce every night of the week, like the baby bird is supposed to? Hell, why doesn't he live with Bruce?"

It was not a conversation they should have been having in the middle of a crowded shop surrounded by hipsters, when his break ended in less than ten minutes.

They were going to have it anyway.

.

The next day, Jason managed to pull the morning shift. The place was quiet the way he liked it best especially after the argument from hell the day before. Cold sunlight shone in the large, storefront windows. Stifling a yawn, he felt a twinge in his shoulder. A burglar had the gall to try and take a _freaking_ _crowbar_ to his back the night before. Needless to say, the bastard had his wrists broken.

In a lacklustre fashion he readied the last of the industrial coffee makers for the commuter rush. Easily carrying the container, premium Colombian roast sloshing within, he paused to stare at two of his whispering coworkers.

"What's going on?" He was shoved from behind but not hard enough to take him off his feet. It was difficult to resist the urge to wind back and punch the kid. His newest coworker (a pale kid who was skinny in a way he suspected the Replacement would have been in a different universe) pushed past.

"They're watching this old guy that came in. He's sitting at the back table drinking his tea like a sir."

Jason moved away to finish setting up the self- serve station. Despite the description he was still not prepared to see Alfred quietly sipping his tea and looking every inch the English gentleman. There was never a glance his way yet he knew better than to ignore the occupant at the back table. Suddenly overly aware of his black flannel shirt and the ground stains on his apron, Jason stepped over to the table. After yesterday, he would be lucky if it was just a social visit.

"Hey, Alfred." He waited until the old man set down his cup, his voice croaking. Inwardly he cursed; he sounded like he was that same starving kid caught trying to help himself to the batmobile's wheels.

Kind eyes smiled at him then there was a dignified, "Good Morning, Master Jason."

The young twenty- something could not stop himself from scuffing his boot against the floor as his ears pricked hot with blood. It was useless to ask Alfred call him anything else.

"How was the tea?" He heard himself ask after a beat. He kicked himself but it was a legitimate question. The drink was not really part of the coffeehouse menu.

"It left something to be desired, I'm afraid." He could hear a wry twist to the pursed lips.

"I'll make you another." _Why the hell did he say that? _Before there was any protest, he grabbed the tea-things and disappeared into the back. Digging out the modern design teapot which had probably never seen a day of use, Jason filled a small pot with water. He had never seen a kettle in the kitchen.

"Do we have any Earl Grey?" he called. The new kid ran off and came back with some teabags. Jason's forehead crinkled.

"We don't have any of the loose stuff?" Whatever. He did _not_ care. Ignoring the growing sets of watching eyes, he poured a bit of the hot water into the teacup to preheat it.

"You know we have a hot water boiler, right?" He heard someone ask obnoxiously. It sounded like the girl who had the shrapnel she called piercings all over her face.

"You know shit about making tea. If the water's that hot it'll mess with the flavour."

Soon hot water was being poured over the Earl Grey in the teapot. He carried a tray to Alfred at the back table.

"We don't have a teakettle or tea leaves here so I used teabags. It'll probably need a few more minutes to steep and we don't have a tea cozy or anything like that here but it'll probably still be okay-" A weathered hand stopped Jason's jerky movements and his runoff at the mouth.

Alfred asked him calmly about his days, and his well being, then poured himself a cup of tea. He quirked an eyebrow at the lemon slices. Jason frowned.

"I really doubt we have the quality imported stuff around here, Alfred." Perpetually unflappable features conceded; lemon was added to the cup. Jason found himself gripping the service tray before he forced himself to relax. He did _not_ care.

"This is excellent, Master Jason."

He was thirteen again and making tea for the nice old guy who always made him a cup with cream and a lot of sugar. He was not sure how to react to the praise.

"Yea, well. Lemme know if you need anything else." He took the tray and beat feet back to the counter. Alfred finished the tea and left.

"So was that like your grandfather or something?" The social visit left Jason heartsore but strangely sated.

"Or something. Now go find someone else's business to mind, scrapyard."

.

"_Thursday, 2:22 am._

_This is Cassandra. Leave a message_.

_BEEP_."

.

Dick found himself strangely detached from the conversation. Bruce was leaving on a business trip. Alfred would watch the manor. Tim was to watch over Wayne Enterprises and Dick was supposed to watch over Gotham wearing the cowl. Bruce's plans were pretty much perfect in detail.

Dick could not help but think it was his fault, in some way.

"Bruce, what about Damian?" Azure looked at him calmly.

"What about Damian?"

He felt the urge to pull on his own hair. "Did you tell him you were leaving?"

The azure continued to regard him impassively. "I will."

The tone effectively ended that line of conversation.

.

Stephanie woke on Friday morning with hair in her face. Bleary eyes cracked open while she dug around for her cell phone.

"Hello?" After a grueling patrol, she was not a morning person.

"Hello, Stephanie?" The hesitant voice made her feel like smiling even though her face was not up to it.

"Cass!" She flopped onto her back. Her room was warm and she had no morning classes. Life was good.

"So, what's up?"

.

"How's Blackbat?"

"She's doing fine. You know what the weird thing is, though?" Batgirl seemed determined to ignore the tense atmosphere. Robin simply did not care. He blew on his hands. The gloves were suitable against bruising but not the cold.

"Someone's been calling her but they won't leave a voicemail." Robin tensed.

"The Ninja's having a problem kicking ass?" Red Hood's voice cracked over the comm. They were all connected by radio.

"Wouldn't be a problem if she knew whose ass to kick." Batgirl countered. A sharp wind interfered with the connection. It was the same wind that tugged briskly at his hood.

"She could send us the number, see if it can be tracked." Red Robin's voice was distracted.

"I doubt she would need help from the likes of you," Robin sneered. A hand in a heavy glove clasped his shoulder.

"Play nice." The face was Batman but the voice was his brother's. They were on the roof directly opposite the front entrance.

"I think I'm agreeing with Dr. Mid-Nite on this, even though it kills me."

"Wait, you called him _what_? Can I use that?" The Red Hood's line dissolved into cackles.

Red Robin growled Batgirl but by the pitch and grating quality everyone knew he meant _Steph_. He had not apologised; she had not forgiven him. Business as usual.

"Batman?" He saw the other shift his attention from Oracle who started to put the lower ranks in order. "Why wouldn't Blackbat just answer the phone calls?"

"Most people won't pick up calls from numbers they don't recognise, Robin."

"Anyway," Batgirl cut in. "She said she'll wait. If they're still calling when she comes to visit in a few weeks then she'll give up the number."

_She was coming to visit?_ Digesting the information, the little bird only listened with half an ear as Batgirl continued.

"Now onto more pressing issues. We need to change plans 'cuz I'm pretty sure I'm looking at Bane through a window."

"Bane?"

"Oh, hell."

There was a scramble as everyone moved to Plan Beta.

.

Satisfied there was no more dirt or blood in his hair, Tim stepped out of the stall. The Cave was finally quiet. It had been a painful drag- out fight that had taken over two hours because Bane had found a way to take the venom compound as an inhalant. As prepared as they were, it took everything to defeat that much raw power. The juggernaut's fury only increased when he realised the real Batman was not among them.

Moving stiffly, he walked out of the shower area. The stitches across his abdomen itched. Except for the droning hum from the Crays the space was silent and he thought he was alone until he noticed the cape draped over the chair in front of the supercomputer. He went over to the vast, illuminated monitor.

"Hey, Tim. Did you need to finish your report or something?" Dick was focused on a sheet of paper. Intel was scattered about the space in a mess.

"No, I'm all set." His older brother looked at him. In the blue of the screen's display the butterfly bandage tacked on Dick's cheek did nothing to hide the red of the deep cut.

"How are the stitches?" That question received a blank look. Tim hated when he asked the question. Stitches did not have a state of being to inquire after. Pushing down his annoyance, he answered anyway.

"I'm fine."

Dick frowned. "Sorry, I meant how are you feeling?"

"I know. I'm fine," he repeated.

"I figured."

Tim peered at the paper. Heat packs, thermals, gloves. A list in preparation for the colder weather. There was also a crude drawing of a masked figure with a thermal pad in the cowl. Something told him that it was supposed to be funny. He found Dick staring at him and he did not know what the other could possibly be seeing.

"I have to be in New York later today." He started to turn away from the stare when the other snagged his sleeve. Abruptly his older brother stood and kissed the top of his head.

"Goodnight, Timmy." Grabbing the cape, Dick disappeared into the changing rooms.

Tim looked back at the paper again. He noted the cowl did not have ears.

.

Colin was humming it again.

On the unusually mild Saturday morning, the song seemed out of place despite it being November. The redhead tried not to laugh at his friend's sour expression.

"Damian, the song says you better not pout."

"I am not pouting," Damian snapped. "And I am more looking forward to the One Who is All coming to town than this Santa Claus that you keep singing about."

Colin burst out in laughter that followed them into the arcade.

.

* * *

The part where I justify something I wrote:

Yes, it got away from me. I was not planning for these bits to actually begin a plot but...

I know Tim calling Steph a sloure was a bit much but it's the worst word I know. I've only heard someone actually use it once, it's that bad.

Bane was no longer addicted to venom before the New 52 but between the movies and the reboot I was not sure how many people actually knew that and did not feel like getting in to it. The inhalant idea is my own, though.

I always appreciate correction from grammar and literary purists (keep in mind I use BE). Thanks for reading.


	3. Mornings

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, so don't sue. It wouldn't be worth the trouble...

Because even their most peaceful breakfast would end in a curse. PG-13.

* * *

_Countdown to the Holidays_

III: Mornings

The three staggered into the diner around 5:45 in the morning. There was a shuffling of bags as they dropped into a booth. None of them had any real reaction to the arrival of the waitress.

"Oh. Three coffees, please. One cream, two sugars," the tallest moaned out after much prodding, making a tired waving gesture around the small table. He furrowed a brow when she asked if they wanted anything to eat and it took forever to gain a response.

"Pancakes, sausages, eggs, scrambled. Oatmeal with apples and soymilk. And orange juice," the last seemed added as an afterthought and produced a low- throated growl from the child at his side.

"I told you it was a bad idea to chase the operation to Bludhaven," the boy across from them mumbled. His face was mostly concealed by a red hoodie; the comment trailed off into his backpack which he used as a pillow.

There was no audible response except for two different legs kicking him under the table. It did not provoke any kind of retaliation. Instead an even expulsion of air escaped. Leaning forward, Damian could see dark lashes resting against fair skin.

"Again Drake seeks to shame my father's reputation."

When there was no rejoinder of, "We're in Blud, Dami. No one cares." he tilted his head to take in the sight of his oldest brother slumped comfortably on the vinyl seat, snoring softly. Even with Dick's face turned from the window the shadows were not enough to hide the bags under his eyes. A mouth normally curved in a smile was slack, a low rumble playing beneath each intake of breath.

Blinking drowsily, Damian noticed the sky had begun to lighten. The lingering press of dusk started to ease gradually. It was quiet and lulled by the warmth emanating from the still form of his brother, he hesitantly curled in on his side.

He jerked awake at the clatter of plates. Drake's eyes flicked to him then refocused on his food. It was only as he sat up that he realised he was no longer leaning against Grayson but sitting on his lap. Red coloured his face as he scrambled down. The booth's other occupants did not seem to notice. Drake continued eating and Grayson finished slicing apples into the oatmeal as if nothing had happened. In silence, he slid the bowl over to Damian then held up another apple.

"Want half, Tim?" There was only a nod. The youngest looked back and forth between the two. No one said anything else and Damian began to relax. A small part of him wondered if he could have sat there longer.

"Drink your orange juice, Lil' D."

Damian opened his mouth to complain, then closed it. He picked up the tall glass.

"Asshat," he mumbled under his breath.

* * *

The part where I justify something I wrote:

I could not imagine these three having a quiet meal together without them being exhausted and the threat of blackmail hanging over someone's head.

Rating for each chapter will be in the description and at the top of the story but the overall story rating in the summary will not change.

Corrections are welcome. Thanks for reading.


	4. Father

If I don't own, you can't sue.

He was not sure why but it felt strangely final. K.

* * *

_Countdown to the Holidays_

IV: Father

It was cold. Landing on the rooftop, Robin strolled quickly to the dark, looming figure.

"Hello, Father." There was a small nod then focus shifted away from him to the last person to arrive. The second Batman landed with a crouch. A mysterious rise in the theft of certain electronic components had required someone to track the stolen parts and determine the purpose of the integrated elements while the dynamic duo ran the group down. Since the burglaries had increased rapidly over the past several days Robin would track with Batman and Nightwing would investigate. It was very different from their usual routine but he felt honoured to work beside his father.

"How was your trip?" The small bird inquired. This was the first time he had seen the man since his return. Bruce Wayne had been on a tour of the S.T.A.R. Research facilities in Chicago.

"It went well," was the best Robin could expect to hear in the field. He heard the whisper of a cape as the second Batman stepped forward.

"Someone missed you terribly." The boy seethed at the lie. Whirling around to argue, he was dragged into another hug. Over the last few days, there had been a lot of them.

Finally set back on his feet, he glared daggers at the young man in the cape. The cowl was down and his grinning older brother bent forward, hands resting on his knees.

"You are a dead man, Grayson," he growled as he raised his hand. The gauntleted hand of his father stopped his own. Robin caught the silent warning and with a huff turned from the infuriating sight of his brother.

"Promise me you're going to be a good boy as well when I'm not around you, okay?" His brother requested cheerfully. A solid hand ruffled his hair. He was not sure why but it felt strangely final. Robin shook off the thought and the gloved hand.

"Tt. Grayson, unhand me..." The boy whirled around.

"...you.. idiot."

The rooftop was empty.

* * *

The part where I justify something I wrote:

This was actually taken from very cute fanart:

images/1300-1846872. I do not know who drew this but I think this was pretty much how Dick said bye to Damian (or did not say goodbye, I guess...)

Corrections welcome. Thanks for reading.


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